


Not Your Friend

by missjoshemmett



Series: AU Robin of Sherwood [2]
Category: Robin of Sherwood
Genre: Gen, Mystical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjoshemmett/pseuds/missjoshemmett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin discovers a huge secret from Gisburne that sends him to Herne for advice only to discover another secret.  How will Robin and the Merries deal with these new revelations?  Alan coaxes things out of a recovering Gisburne.</p>
<p>© 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Friend

 

FOREWORD

  


In the first of three parts, Robin i’ the Hood is returned to Marion and his friends after an absence of one year, during which time they thought he was dead. He is now 21 years old. After regaining their strength and adding a different Alan a Dale to the band of Merries, all of the outlaws pledged once again to fight for England’s freedom. During a ceremony, using Albion, the outlaws were each given the ability to hear Herne in their minds, the same as Robin, although it would be sparingly, as needed. Herne sent them on a quest to find a mysterious voice only Robin could hear. They thought both the Sheriff, Robert de Rainault, and Sir Guy of Gisburne were dead. However, they discovered that Gisburne was not only alive but ‘the voice’ crying out to them. At the end of part one, they have saved him, but have no clue as to why. None of them are even sure they want to know, including Guy. Part two tells the story of Gisburne’s recovery and gives more insight into why the real Alan a Dale has come into their midst. Part three will send them on their next quest.

More stories will follow in my AU _Robin of Sherwood_ series. 

 

 

DEDICATIONS

  
This story is dedicated to Michael Praed (who still inspires me), the late Robert Addie (whose voice still haunts, and sometimes annoys me, as Gisburne), Claire (for all the beta work), Dan Rendell (for patiently answering all my questions), and all the fans of ‘Robin of Sherwood’ for keeping the dream alive.

An AU story based on the characters in _Robin of Sherwood_

 

 

 

**NOT YOUR FRIEND**

 

Seven months had passed since the Nottingham Castle rescue. Now Guy was propped up against what the outlaws referred to as the Gisburne Tree. It had not escaped anyone’s notice that he was recovering faster than was to be expected for the condition they had found him in. But they had also accepted that there seemed to be a form of ‘protection’ around their camp that none of the soldiers had ventured into. Sometimes, it seemed as if they _were_ invisible.

Two days after the rescue, Marion had slipped into the forest and gone to Herne’s cave. When she arrived at the far shore on the flat-bottomed boat, Herne was standing there with a small leather pouch. He handed it to Marion and simply put in her mind: _his drink_. Marion had nodded and left. She waited another two days, and when it seemed that Gisburne was responding to the medicine, she knew she had to say something.

Lying with Robin that night, her head on his shoulder, Marion murmured softly, “Do not be angry with me, Robin, but I knew that nothing in the forest could help Guy, so I visited Herne. I know we promised ‘no secrets,’ but I _had_ to do something!”

“I followed you.”

“I love you.”

And they slept.

Marion, Tuck, and Alan had taken to calling Gisburne “Guy”. The others had not.

The outlaws foraged for roots and small game. One time, Much had brought down a deer, and there was celebrating that night, as it was the best they’d felt in a long time. Little John had visited Meg in Wickham and, at daylight, she had given him clothes.

“Your fishing trips get more and more interesting as time passes,” Robin had commented, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. But the clothes fit Guy fairly well, so everyone was willing to let it go.

 

>\------------->

 

After a month, Guy was able to sit against the tree on his own. He now disdained lying down. His mind was working clearly and he felt he needed to keep an eye on all of them.

Tuck decided that it was time to get Guy moving, so Marion and Alan started bending Guy’s ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows. At first, Guy groaned, but soon lapsed into silence, gritting his teeth. Unknown to the rest, Guy had also taken to doing the same exercises on his own at night when they slept. The pain was worse without help, but he had survived war, Hugo, de Rainault, a myriad of failures, and the dungeon: he could deal with this. At least _this_ had a purpose. He tried not think of his time at the hands of Sir Richard Fitzgilbert. _I need to find a way out of here. Everything is_ most _unnatural. Why have I not been found? Not that I want to be found. Where shall I go? The Sheriff will eventually go to Wales. He will think that is where_ I _have gone, if I live. Still_ … As the time passed, he was soon able to feed himself. _What a relief! Another relief would be never listening to Alan sing again!_

 

>\------------->

 

A shower hit the clearing and everyone dashed into the shelter of the surrounding trees, pulling blankets over their heads as they huddled close to the ground. Suddenly, Tuck yelled, “Guy!” He stood up and scuttled across the empty space in his sandaled feet, holding the blanket over his head. The rest of the outlaws snickered, although Marion tried not to until she looked at Robin.

Tuck reached Guy, who had pulled his blanket over his head, exposing his feet. The friar pulled it back down and plopped himself next to Guy, throwing his own blanket over both their heads. He was puffing away, trying to catch his breath, and Guy bit the corner of his mouth. As time passed and Tuck’s breathing became less audible, Guy slowly turned to look at him. “Marry me.”

Tuck straightened up and made one of his famous quizzical faces. Turning his head, he found that Guy was now looking straight ahead into the blanket. “Well! I must say that in my time living in the forest, several young women have flirted with me rather openly on occasion, despite my cassock. But _none_ have actually _proposed_! And, while I do find it all quite flattering, I am afraid I must decline as I am already married to the Church.” He tried to look very serious, but had to turn away to hide a small smile.

A little more time passed before Guy closed his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I was joking…”

“Since it is a first for you, Guy, _and_ given your tone of voice, how was I to tell?”

“I can be _quite_ funny when I am of a mind to do so.”

“Never!”

“We spent much time together in the past. I am surprised you never noticed.”

“Well, I _never_ noticed!”

“Are you two quite all right under there?”

Tuck lowered the blanket at the sound of Alan’s and Robin’s voices and blinked his eyes as he looked around to see that the shower had passed and a watery sun was peeking out. They were surrounded by a half circle of all the outlaws. His round face broke into a bright grin. “Quite, actually.” Guy sighed and scowled.

Will and Nasir broke into a fit of giggles and walked toward the hollow they had dug under one of the big trees for storage to get dry wood for a new fire. Much, looking a bit bewildered, turned and scurried after them. John reached down and grabbed Tuck’s upheld arm by the wrist, pulling him up with a loud grunt and rolling of the eyes. They, too, walked off toward the damp ashes. Robin bit the corner of his mouth then grinned, his eyes twinkling. Marion pulled the damp blanket off of Guy and they turned and walked away.

Left alone, again, Guy scowled at his wet feet and the damp hem of his scratchy trousers. This particular rain, and being caught at a bit of levity with Tuck, had not turned his mood very sour. His thoughts drifted to times he had huddled by himself or with other solders in downpours lasting for hours…days! Then he tracked ahead to the opulence of Hugo’s abbey. Even Nottingham Castle wasn’t all that bad. It was a bit damp and drafty, but there was crackling warmth from all the fireplaces to sit by with a cup of wine to ease the chill _inside_ as well. He suddenly thought of home and the wild thunderstorms, when he huddled against his mother’s skirts. At night, he sometimes awoke, crying out in fear at a very loud crack of thunder and lightning that lit up his room like midday. His father would stomp in and yell at him not to be a baby and wouldn’t let his mother comfort him, instead slamming the door shut. _But it made me stronger. Father was right. How would I survive now, if I had slept with Mother holding me all night?_

Guy looked at the outlaws. They already had a fire going and were drying themselves by it. He narrowed his eyes. _Is there nothing those wolfsheads cannot do?_ He finally zeroed in on Robin. _Go ahead and laugh, peasant. Just go ahead and_ laugh. Finally, he bellowed: “WET FEET!”

The laughter and talking stopped and they all turned to look at Guy, with the exception of Alan.

“’E’s off again,” muttered Will.

_Why are they all just staring at me! Why is no one_ doing _something?_ He turned his full attention on Robin. “DO YOU THINK YOU ARE _BETTER_ THAN ME, _WOLFSHEAD_?”

Alan sucked in his breath. _It is finally coming. Whatever Guy has been hiding is finally coming. And it is aimed straight at Robin and Robin alone._ And, as all the others jumped to their feet, Alan stayed where he was.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU _ARE_?”

Robin straightened himself to his full height, pulled at the strings of his cowl, and spoke in an even tone, staring Guy in the eyes. “I _know_ who I am. Robin of Loxley.”

The others quickly noted Robin’s answer. Something was happening. Perhaps the answer to all their questions. The main one being: Why was Sir Guy of Gisburne here with them in Sherwood?

Guy broke into a nasty smile and narrowed his eyes. “NOT BY A _LONG_ CHALK! NOT EVEN IN YOUR WILDEST _DREAMS_! YOU ARE _NOT_ LOXLEY! NOR ARE YOU SHERWOOD OR EVEN _MILLER_!” Guy shot an angry look at Much, then returned to Robin. “YOU ARE _GISBURNE_!” Guy was breathing heavily from so much exertion, but nothing could stop him now.

“ _Never_!” Robin refused to raise his voice and lower himself to Guy’s level. He would _not_ rise to that bait. _Guy wants to make me lose control in front of Marion and the men. I will_ not _let that happen._

“GISBURNE!”

“My father was Ailric of Loxley.”

“EDMOND OF GISBURNE!”

Robin kept his voice steady. “And, although I have been adopted by Herne, I would gladly have been Robin the Miller, if that had been my fate.”

“LOXLEY _RAISED_ YOU. FATHER _CREATED_ YOU!”

Robin took a breath to steady himself. “My mother would have _never_ willingly given herself to the likes of _your_ father!”

Involuntarily, Little John reached out and put his hand around Robin’s upper arm, as if to hold him back, although Robin had not moved.

“I NEVER SAID… _WILLINGLY_!”

Everyone’s eyes grew round and their mouths dropped open. They felt as if their feet were rooted to the spot.

Guy pressed his lips together and paused for his last words to take effect before he added his final volley with a huge evil grin:

“ _THAT_ IS WHY SHE _KILLED_ HERSELF AFTER YOU WERE _BORN_! AND, MORE’S THE PITY, SHE DID NOT HAVE SENSE ENOUGH TO DO IT _BEFORE_!”

Marion let out a small gasp and, covering her mouth, started to shake. All but Alan clenched their fists, waiting for a signal from Robin.

But Robin surprised them by pulling away from John. Robin turned, picking up his tunic, and walked into the forest. They stared at Guy for a moment then felt the anger drain out their bodies. With a bitter taste in their mouths, they disappeared into the trees, singly, except for Much, who trailed after John, his face covered in tears. Only Tuck remained. He sighed, glanced quizzically at Alan still crouched across the fire from him. Then he knelt. He crossed himself, laced his fingers, closed his eyes, and, with bent head, began to pray.

 

>\------------->

 

Alan waited for a moment after Tuck started to silently pray, then rose and walked calmly over to Guy. He sat so that their upper sleeves were touching. Alan could feel that Guy had raised his temperature with his angry outburst. Staring into the trees, Alan said, “Feeling better?”

“Rather.” Guy looked at Tuck and noted that Alan could speak in a low voice and had, no doubt, barely moved his lips. Guy, as a child, had often thought that his father had been carrying on conversations with visiting friends that were not heard by others around them. As a solider, Guy, himself, had been trained to speak this way to avoid attracting attention from the enemy or giving away any secrets. And Alan was correct. Guy had now relaxed and his temper had subsided. He was known for his quick flashes of anger that, just as quickly, disappeared. The men under his command in Nottingham had known the signs and when to make themselves scarce.

“Well, I am happy that I have already changed _my_ name to Dale.” He used the abbreviated version of his name – the same way Guy had used an abbreviated version of Robin’s name moments earlier.

Still eying Tuck, Guy answered in kind. “But you are _still_ a Gisburne, brother.” Again Tuck didn’t move. Guy relaxed even more and started breathing evenly. “I wish he would have hit me.”

“Why?”

“ _I_ would have…”

“Robin is not you, brother.”

Frowning slightly, Guy said, “Too bad.” Oddly enough, Guy suddenly found himself thinking of the boy, Much. Why had he attacked _him_? There was no reason for it. _Except that he_ did _bring Robin into my life when he killed that deer_. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts of Robin and turned them to Alan. He had long suspected that Alan was more than he appeared to be, but finding him with his most hated enemies had been a bit of shock. Still, he _did_ help care for him from the very beginning and, now, had stayed with him when everyone else had left. _I wonder how long...?_ Guy had begun to ask himself, when he realized that Alan had just said the very same thing aloud. “Hmm?”

“How long have you known?”

“What?”

“About _Robin_.” _Where had Guy gone wandering?_ Alan thought, feeling a bit annoyed. _Most likely, thinking about himself…as usual._

“Not very long. After we got back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was quite peevish. He had been that way since he had returned to camp. Then the outlaws escaped and it surely _looked_ like the Hooded Man. He _shot_ me. Eventually, Richard Fitzgilbert began to believe the rumours and we were _both_ arrested after his meeting with King John. _I_ was not there.”

“Poor Gisburne.”

“Shut up! Do want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry, it was getting off track. Go on.”

“I was _not_ ‘getting off track’. I was pointing out that I did not know why _I_ should be arrested. I was _shot_!”

“Aah, but not _killed_. Why should Robin spare you?”

Guy frowned. In all the time he had been alone, it was the one thing that had not occurred to him. “De Rainault was hanged, but I was just moved to another cell. Time passed. Dunno how long. In there you lose track of the days. At least Arthur was not there…”

“Arthur…?”

“Never mind. Ask the boy. Finally, Fitzgilbert came to see me. Started asking questions about our father. Did not know what he was on about. Something about a treasure. He was not inclined to believe that I knew nothing. After a few months, he told me it had to do with my brother. So, I thought he was talking about you.”

“Depends on how many Gisburnes there are.”

“So far as I knew at the time, three.”

“Hmmm…”

“Finally, The Sheriff told me that the treasure was Robin i’ the Hood’s mother’s. Something about _Wales_.”

“You _love_ Wales…”

Guy snorted, sighed, and resumed. “Robin _Hood_! My _brother_! What a _disgrace_! A _wolfshead_!”

“Still…you called for him.”

“ _Never_!”

“’Tis true. Robin heard you.”

“I yelled ‘no’… _Screamed_ his name in my mind. Not aloud. I was _furious_ with him _and_ it kept me from screaming at the pain. It was all his fault after all.”

“That would explain why you would not tell us who or where you were.”

“Why _would_ I? I _hate_ him. A common outlaw.”

“So, I have risen in stature?” Alan smiled and laughed silently. “I remember when my mother died and she told me why we had moved to France. And, me, realizing I had known you for years. She felt safe there, I would assume.”

“So you told me.”

“I do remember your face. You were almost as livid as Robin.”

“You are a bleeding _musician_!”

“Troubadour.”

“I _hate_ you…”

“You hate everyone.”

“I try…”

Silence.

“I was tortured! _Really_ , if I had known there was money to be had, even in _Wales_ , would I be in _Nottingham_ working for the Sheriff, like a _servant_?”

Alan realized there was no answer for that and his brother was not expecting one. So, he changed the subject for the time being. If there were a treasure of some type in one of their father’s holdings, that would be between the two of them. Alan had already decided to distance himself from this whole affair, if it were possible.

“Guy?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you love your mother?”

“I _adored_ her. Most likely why the Abbot Hugo gave me leave when I got word she was dying. I was glad to be with her at the end. Father was stiff and strict. But he was an excellent soldier. He did care for me, most especially when I went off to fight, in his footsteps. But mother was kind. Very gentle.”

“Did she know about our father’s, umm, hobby whilst away?”

“Most likely. But she would have forgiven him anything. She loved him. Women are odd. However, he loved her too. He always came home. She was at his bedside when he died and wept bitterly for days.”

“Was your sister allowed leave when your mother died?”

“No. More’s the pity. But when you take vows in the Church, you never leave the walls until you die. Why she took _that_ type of vows, I shall never know. She was like Mother.”

Again, silence.

Guy glanced at Tuck, still in prayer. “I was in love once.”

“You looked in a mirror?”

There was a big sigh, with rolling of eyes, before Guy continued. “I was in love _twice_.” Alan smiled. _Guy_ does _have a sense of humour_ , he thought without interrupting Guy’s flow of words. “She was a Jewess. I was willing to give up everything for her. But she would have none of it. Claimed to be ‘promised’ to another.”

“A _Jewess_? _You_?”

“Hmm. Could have converted her.”

“Never.”

“Well, we shan’t find out. Robin interfered. I _hate_ him.”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

“You are writing a _stupid_ ballad in your _stupid_ head, Alan, whilst I am telling you of my lady love. _You_ annoy me. But to be related to a _wolfshead_ is positively _unthinkable_!”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“Could be Scarlet.”

“I _hate_ you…”

Again, silence as Alan smiled and reminded himself that he had never found an ounce of humour in his brother, yet he had now heard two jokes in one hour.

“ _And_ he is pagan!” Guy said, interrupting Alan’s thoughts. “Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Trees, Keeper of Light and Darkness, indeed.”

Guy snorted.

“He is real.”

“Never! He is a _man_. I _shot_ him.”

“Bad shot…”

“Still a man.”

“But he lives. And even if you had succeeded in killing him, there would have been another. He is possessed by Herne. I have seen Herne, himself. _And_ heard him. He can speak to you inside your head.”

“Alan!”

“Oh, I know who the true God is. So, does the Friar there. He prays for them until the time he can use Robin to convert them to Christianity. You should have seen the look in Tuck’s eyes when he realized I speak Latin…” Alan smiled smugly.

“Robin is _Christian_?”

“Not now. But when the people regain England and put a proper king on the throne, Tuck is sure Robin will cross over. Herne will have no more use for him. _And_ the people follow him. As far as _I_ know, _Herne_ could be working for God. Stranger things have happened. De Rainault saw snakes when he opened the Talmud.”

“I was there. I must say it was the strangest thing I have ever witnessed. However, in the end, I _enjoyed_ seeing it.”

_He’s off again. Better change the subject._ “How many Gisburnes do you think there are, then?”

“Including _my_ ‘little mistakes,’ as de Rainault used to call them?”

Alan smiled and mused to himself. _Wonder if_ I _have any ‘little mistakes’?_

“You two must look like your _mothers_.”

“Indeed. I've heard a description of our father and you _do_ look just like him.”

“ _I_ am the lucky one.”

Alan scrunched his face. “A matter of opinion. _And_ that would be three against one, now.”

“I am also growing tired of this. It is getting us nowhere.” Guy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. _And they look a bit like mother. Father must have preferred dark-haired women. My sister looks a bit like them._ Then, he shuddered at the last thought and decided to think of other things.

Alan sat in silence until he heard steady breathing, then he stood up. _Guy is right, until Robin returns._

When Alan reached the fire, Tuck crossed himself and stood up. Looking straight into Alan’s eyes, he muttered, “Yes.” Then he turned and walked to the edge of the lake and stared into the water. He bent down and picked up a stone. Throwing it into the lake, he watched the small plop spread out into larger and larger circles. _Life_ …he mused.

Alan knelt down, crossed himself, laced his fingers, and, bowing his head, placed his fingers against his lips, with his nose resting on top. _What do I do now, God? Who do I listen to? Who do I follow?_

_Alan._

Alan started and, opening his eyes, looked at the friar, but Tuck was still staring at the water’s edge.

_Alan?_

He looked at Guy, but he was still sleeping peacefully. Alan squeezed his eyes shut and resumed his praying position.

_Come._

Alan took a deep breath and crossed himself. Opening his eyes he found himself staring at Albion. Robin had left the sword behind and the fire danced on the blade. Pressing his lips together and shaking his head, Alan stood and walked into the trees. _God be with me._

 

>\------------->

 

Having walked further into the forest, Robin unconsciously pulled the tunic over his head, letting it hang straight down, and flipped up the hood. He walked in a fairly straight line, one foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left. _Gis, burne, Gis, burne._ Even when he had to step over a fallen branch: _Gis_ , pause, _burne_. Finally, he reached Herne’s boat. Untying it, he stepped aboard and picked up the long pole. He moved unseeingly through the mist, pushing the craft with the pole – _Gis, burne, Gis, burne_ – until he felt it hit the rocky shore. Putting down the pole, he stepped off the boat and turned to tie it up, only to find it floating swiftly back into the mist. Robin shook his head and turned, clenching his fists. Seeing a light flickering on the cave walls, he walked in.

Robin stopped when he saw Herne’s back as he sat by the fire. He knew that Herne sensed he was there, but even though he had presented himself as Robin i’ the Hood, he was not acknowledged. Now, his anger boiled over. “HOW COULD YOU NOT _TELL_ ME?”

“It was not time.”

“I COULD HAVE KILLED MY OWN _BROTHER_ MANY _TIMES_!”

“But you did not…”

Robin’s head dropped and his fists unclenched. _Herne is not even_ here. _Have I come for nothing? I have even called Gisburne my brother. I am_ so _tired._

“Sit.”

Robin moved to a rock by the fire, dragging his feet. He pushed the hood back, then grabbed the top of the tunic and roughly pulled it over his head, throwing it on the floor. Then, he collapsed more than sat. He stared into the flames for a time. “Where is Herne?”

“Elsewhere.”

Suddenly, Robin felt completely alone. Abandoned. He bent over, hugging his legs and burying his face in his knees. His long hair fell over his arms. He let go of everything in his mind and body and started to cry. Silent deep sobs wracking his body, heedless of anything around him.

After a while Robin sat up, his face and trousers wet. He looked at the old man across the fire and wiped the tears away with his sleeves. The old man poured something from a flask into one of the carved horns he used as drinking vessels and handed it to Robin. “Drink.” Robin frowned at it for a moment and the man smiled. “It is warm mulled wine.”

Then Robin sighed and took a sip.

“All of it. And then sleep. You will feel more refreshed.”

Robin bit the corner of his lip. _I_ am _tired_ , he thought. Then he downed the wine and stood up. The old man nodded to one of the natural niches in the cave wall. It had straw and was covered with a blanket. Robin picked up his tunic, walked over to the niche and slid onto the bedding, shoving the tunic under his head. He looked at markings carved into the top of the niche. Soft firelight made them seem as if they were moving, but, before he could comment on the effect, he dropped off into a deep sleep. The kind he hadn’t enjoyed since he’d returned to Sherwood.

When Robin awoke, he felt refreshed and relaxed. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the markings in the ceiling. “I feel better. Sorry for the crying.”

“You _cried_?”

 

>\------------->

 

Alan walked through the forest, not even thinking of where he was going, just looking straight ahead to avoid bumping into anything. Finally, he came to the edge of a body of water. There sat a flat-bottomed boat, untethered. Alan shrugged his shoulders and stepped aboard. He picked up the long pole and started pushing his way forward. Soon he was surrounded by the mist. Although he was unable to see, he felt he knew where he was going as Herne always seemed to be surrounded by a mist. After awhile, he felt the boat bump into a rocky ledge. In front of him, it was clear and a light glowed in the distance. He put down the pole, stepped off the boat, and tied the craft to a little stake in a mound of stones. Shaking his head and sighing, he stalked off toward the light.

Alan soon realized he was approaching a cave and ventured in. The opening shaft widened out into a large room. A fire was burning and an old man was sitting by it with his back to him.

“Welcome, Alan.”

“You’re not Herne.”

“Very astute of you. Your ear for voices?”

“Indeed. Are you the man Herne uses?”

“Yes.”

“Why am I here?”

“I do not know. Herne has not returned. Sit. Have some wine.”

Alan brightened. _This_ part he understood.

“Have you a song to pass the time?”

Alan took a sip from the carved horn, after admiring the workmanship. He cradled it in his hands, staring into the dark red liquid. In a soft and mellow voice, he started to sing:

 

“How to explain a life between

A world where nothing is what it seems.

To be caught in a place one cannot explain:

One half sun and the other half rain.

 

Two men stand in two different worlds.

Two men pray in different words.

Two men fight to believe what is right:

One place day and one place night.

 

I have found no answer yet.

He has found he has no regret.

Each must find what he must live by:

One place wet and one place dry.

 

Which is right and which is wrong?

Is one weak and the other strong?

Or are they both in the right?

One place day and one place night.

 

They must live in both these faiths.

They must live in each other’s grace.

Each must find what life’s about.

One place in and one place out.”

 

“Very well put, Alan. I find it interesting that you even consider another faith.”

“I am here.”

“Indeed. Ah, he awakens…”

Alan jumped to his feet and spun around. _Why did I think I was alone? Why did I not look around? And, more to the point…why did this person not hear my song?_

“I feel better. Sorry for the crying.” The voice came from a crevice in the wall. _Robin? No wonder he did not hear me. He would not have understood a song about two faiths. The good friar and I are quite alone in this._

Alan relaxed and broke into a big grin, placing his hands on his hips. “You _cried_?”

 

>\------------->

 

Everything in Robin that had come from his purge of anger and sorrow and the rest of his sleep was gone. He swung his legs out of the niche and jumped up, just remembering to duck at the last second, so as not to hit his head. As his eyes focused, he became fully aware, for the first time since he had left camp, of the empty scabbard hitting his leg.

“Who?”

“Alan.”

“Alan?”

“A Dale.”

Robin let out a sigh and his shoulders dropped. He looked at the grinning face, shook his head, and walked around him to the fire. “Troubadour at large…” he mumbled.

“Indeed!”

“What brings you here?”

“My feet. Oh! And a magic ship.”

“Please do not write a song about magic ships. I am not the mood.”

“Well, to put you even less in the mood, I suppose I have been summoned here to let you know that I, too, am a Gisburne.”

Robin froze, but, before he could say anything, a voice came from across the room. “But only _you_ are the Hooded Man.”

He and Alan looked at the old man, but the voice told them all they needed to know. Alan stopped smiling and Robin stuck his chin in the air as they looked at Herne the Hunter. The old man had donned the stag headdress and was now standing straight and tall.

“Will you shout at me again, Robin?”

Robin let his head drop and closed his eyes. “No,” he answered in a quiet voice.

“And shouting, too? You have had a busy time, when not sleeping, brother,” Alan chided.

“Alan?” Herne’s voice sounded like a scolding father. “Let Robin alone for now.”

Alan shrugged his shoulders and walked back to the stone and his wine. He dropped into silence. _If they do not wish me here, why was I called?_ he thought and he took a deep drink.

_In time_ , Alan heard in his head. He made a face at the unexpected answer.

“Robin, come with me,” Herne said. And the two walked out of the cave. Alan rolled his eyes and sighed aloud. Then, he shrugged his shoulders again, stood up, and lay in the place just vacated by Robin. He, too, stared at the ‘dancing’ markings. One caught his eye. He smiled and closed his eyes. _Very interesting_.

Outside, Herne removed his headdress. He looked Robin in the eyes. “I am sorry, but it was better that Guy told you in _his_ own time. However, I did not expect it to come out that way.”

“What more could you expect from him?”

“He has been hurting for a long time. Not just physically, but deep inside. His life has not been the best and he has had to endure much more. And, after all this, to find out that his worst enemy is his own brother has been more than he can take. I should not have been surprised at the outburst. Those who hurt tend to hurt those they should love.”

“LOVE! The man does not know the _meaning_ of the word!”

“Oh, but he _does_ , Robin. Would it surprise you to know that both he and Alan have had to live the same kind of life you have?”

Robin raised his eyebrows.

“Remember when I told you of _everyone_ in Sherwood? The word does not leave _anyone_ out.”

Robin pulled his brows together and sucked at his lower lip. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet uneasily.

“I asked you protect _everyone_. Even your own family.”

Robin looked up with a start, eyes wide. He opened his mouth slightly and stared.

“You have been fortunate, Robin. You have _always_ had a father.” Herne placed his hands on Robin’s upper arms. “Your mother never told Ailric, so he was your father in every sense of the word. The miller raised you as a son. And, now, I am your father. I hope that one day you, too, will be a good father to a son of your own. For the time being, you have surrounded yourself with good friends. _And_ Marion. Who do your brothers have? Much does have you, but he is not the only one, now. When I sent you back this last time, I put a great burden on your young shoulders, but I had faith. I know you will do the right thing. Alan is better able to care for himself, but Guy is not. He is a bullied son (although he would never admit it), a soldier at a young age, and has been passed around from master to master, since returning home. King Richard took Edmond’s lands and King John will certainly not return them.”

“So, _I_ am my brother’s keeper?” Robin asked, cutting Herne off.

Herne gave a hint of a smile around his mouth. “Nasir would be proud.”

“ _And_ Tuck.”

“Especially Tuck.”

“What do I do now? How do I get everyone to even _accept_ Gisburne?”

“They already have, Robin. And you could call him Guy…”

“I doubt it.”

“Very well. It would most likely annoy _him_ , too. The others returned to camp and wait for you. But they will not hurt Guy, although they will most likely avoid him for the time being. Listen to what he has to say about what he learned from Sheriff Fitzgilbert. And then make a decision. Everyone will follow.”

Herne walked back into the cave and placed the stag’s head on a shelf. Robin remained outside and pondered what he had been told.

 

>\------------->

 

“Alan.”

Alan opened his eyes and swung out of the niche, bringing Robin’s tunic with him. He walked over to Herne, who placed his right hand on Alan’s shoulder.

“Your mother is proud of you.”

Alan closed his eyes and a slight smile came to his lips as he pictured her. Then, his eyes opened and he frowned as he realized that Herne had used the present tense. This brought his brows together and he stared.

“ _You_ are the fatherless child. Your mother did not lie to you about Edmond. He was a brave soldier and did, indeed, die with honour. Never forget that. That he had other…shall we say, tendencies...is not the point. You are your mother’s son and it was good for you to have never known him, except as the picture she painted in your head. When you sing, your mother shines through your voice.”

Alan looked deeply into the old man’s eyes. There, he could see two little flames and knew that they were Herne.

“You must continue the path you have chosen. It seems a lonely life, but so is mine. Like you, I am everywhere.”

Alan tilted his head slightly. “Wherever there is a _tree_ …”

Herne produced a sad smile. “Indeed. But _you_ will never have roots, Alan. However, your faith will see you through life.”

“Really? Which one?”

“You know.”

“As does Tuck?”

“The good friar is more than he seems, Alan. He has the patience of…well…a saint.” Then he gave a small chuckle, removing his hand as he turned and went to the seat where Alan had first seen him.

Alan had felt a warmth inside him and, now, felt a little chilled with the hand gone and the prediction that he would never settle in one place. “Are farewells in order?”

“No.” Herne did not turn around. “Robin is not that type. However, I found your ballad quite interesting. Some day, you must sing it the good friar.”

“And _I_ shall remember you to him.”

“He knows… We have an understanding…for _now_ …”

Alan chuckled. He turned around and entered into the little tunnel. Then he paused, looking back. “Shall I ever marry?”

“ _You_ sing, Alan. But remember. There are _women_ who like to dance and you might find one some day. Keep an open mind. Perhaps…even…listen to your mother…”

Alan now knew why Herne had referred to her in the present tense. She had always been his guide and his muse. Until he found a woman willing to travel his endless road along him, his mother would always be with him.

He walked out of the cave and joined Robin, who had waited patiently by the edge of the water. What Herne had to say to his brother was not his affair. Both had much to think about. Alan shoved the tunic into Robin’s chest and stepped onto the boat. Robin looked at the tunic and chewed the side of his mouth. Then he sighed and pulled it over his head, tying all the strings. This time, he left the hood hanging behind, as he no longer felt the need to hide, then stepped onto the boat as well. Alan pushed off with the pole and they journeyed back to camp in silence.

 

>\------------->

 

Everyone looked up when Robin and Alan stepped out of the trees. Neither had said a word on the way back, although Alan had hummed a haunting tune for awhile.

Alan dropped by the fire and gave Tuck a meaningful look. Tuck waggled his brows at Alan in return.

Robin walked straight over to the Gisburne Tree and dropped to one knee at Guy’s feet, leaning forward with his arm on his thigh. Both stared into each other’s eyes for a long while. Finally, Robin lowered his head and blew a soft sound of air out of his mouth, slightly puffing his cheeks. He raised his head again. “It seems we have much to talk about, but first you need to get on your feet, _Gisburne_.” Guy raised his eyebrows and said nothing…for once.

 

>\------------->

 

No one seemed a bit surprised to see how quickly Guy recovered. His eating habits had increased one hundred fold and he had openly exercised his limbs by himself. Soon, Marion and Alan were helping him to stand. One on each side, they walked him around for a day or two. Finally, Guy gave a loud sigh and they placed him on the ground. “I shall have a decided _limp_ if we keep this up.”

Standing, Alan looked down at Marion. Everyone in the camp turned to look at the two of them as they burst into laughter.

“ _Now_ what?” grumbled Will, walking over.

Alan looked down at Guy and back to Marion. “Bit better. But still…” And he and Marion both broke into laughter again.

He turned to the others and raised his voice. “Has no one else noticed that Marion and I are not the same _height_?”

Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment.

“Ooooy!” And Will rolled his eyes as he got Alan’s meaning.

Robin looked at the four of them and then his face expressed understanding. “Sorry. _I_ shall help walk him from now on.”

Tuck turned to the fire and took a bite of rabbit. He smiled at the thought of having to watch the three _brothers_ from now on, hobbling about the camp.

 

>\------------->

 

Nasir challenged Guy to a fight after watching him wielding a sword that Little John had been given on another ‘fishing trip’ to Wickham. John told Robin that it had been taken off a dead soldier by one of the villagers, who almost killed himself due to the weight, and John thought it would be nearly perfect for Gisburne. Guy had accepted it, as he needed one and swords were expensive. He thought he should never see his own sword again, the one that his father had had made for him when he prepared to go off to war.

Since then, Guy had been practicing with his right hand, even when leaning against the tree with his left. Now, he was standing near the lake using both. It was a friendly offer from Nasir and Guy took it as such. The Saracen fascinated him more than any of the others. Even more than Tuck.

The friar looked up and shouted, “Perhaps some wrestling first?”

“Oh! Aye!” And Little John stood and stretched.

Tuck put his hand on his lower back and stood. He looked up at John. “Starting with _Much_?”

John frowned and then walked into the woods, still stretching his limbs.

“ _I’ll_ take ’im!” Much boasted and smiled.

Guy sighed and handed his sword to Nasir. Walking across the open space, meeting Much halfway, he placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders. Much did the same. Then, Guy pulled him forward, knocked his forehead against Much’s, kicked Much’s foot out from under him and flipped Much on his back to the ground. He placed his foot on the boy’s chest and looked at Tuck. “Where did John go, the coward!”

Although Guy’s foot barely touched him, Much looked over at the outlaws helplessly. “He got me by _surprise_!”

“I got you by superior _training_!” And Guy lifted his foot off Much and offered him a hand. Much looked at Robin, who nodded his head, then he wrapped his hand around Guy’s wrist. Guy closed his own hand around Much’s wrist, then suddenly stepped back. In one move, he had pulled the boy to his feet and twisted his arm behind his back. “Did you _seriously_ think I would fall for _that_? _Literally_?” And he glared at Robin.

Turning Much around with the same arm, Guy let go. “Would you like _me_ to teach _you_ to wrestle?”

Much stood his ground and glared into Guy’s face. He scrunched his face until Guy wanted to ask him if thinking brought him pain. Then, Much lightened up and smiled. “ _Yes_!”

Guy put his hands on Much’s shoulders and pulled him close enough for their heads to come together. “It would be good practice for both of us.” Then he straightened up and gave a tight smile.

Nasir passed by. “That would be Gisburne’s way of saying ‘thank you,’” he said and put the sword by the tree.

Guy turned his head with a dark scowl. “I can speak for _myself_!” Then he looked back at Much and let his face relax. “Well...most of the time.”

Nasir put his head down to hide a silent laugh.

Much smiled at Guy and said, “We shall have you ready for the log in no time at all! No time at all!”

“The _log_?”

“Ah!” Tuck turned and smiled. “We shall see who will win _that_ one, my fine soldier! I shall be happy to give you the same dunking as Robin!”

Robin looked at Tuck with mouth and eyes wide open. “YOU _CHEATED_!”

Guy looked confused as everyone laughed. John had returned, so he explained. “So far, _I_ am the only one who has beaten Tuck. We shall see how _you_ do, when it is time.”

Tuck copied Robin’s look. “YOU _CHEATED_!” he cried, then he chuckled until all his fat jiggled.

Robin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Of course. _Soldier_.” He turned to Guy. “There is proper training and then there is _Sherwood_ training…” And he waggled his eyebrows and gave a smug smile.

Suddenly, Much stood as tall as he could, copied the faces he had just seen, and looked at Guy. “YOU CHEATED _TOO_!”

Everyone looked at Much in surprise. The boy was becoming a man _and_ adopting their sense of humour.

Will straightened his face as much as possible. “Aye. ’Tis a start, Gisburne.”

Guy frowned and said to himself, _Am I becoming a wolfshead already? This will not do. I shall never cheat._

Training went quickly from that point on. They found that Will was Guy’s best match at most everything, but, then, he was a soldier as well.

Robin had watched and remembered what Herne had said about everyone accepting Guy in their own way.

 

>\------------->

 

Finally, one evening at sunset, Robin pulled Albion out of the ground, wiped it between his arm and side, and walked over to Guy. He reached down and put his hand around Guy’s upper arm, pulling him up and walking him to the edge of the lake.

It was so quiet, Tuck said later, that he could have heard a leaf if it fell to the ground a mile away.

Each of the outlaws walked across the clearing.

Robin stepped back from Guy and pulled up his hood. He raised Albion so it was horizontal to the ground, with the hilt against his chest, then he closed his eyes as he put his head down. The sun had dipped behind the trees across the lake, and the red afterglow shone on the blade like firelight. Albion’s tip pointed at Guy. Each of the outlaws took their places: Marion on The Hooded Man’s right, Tuck on the left, Will on the right, Little John on the left, Nasir on the right, Much on the left and, finally, Alan on the right. Each stretched out their right hand and placed the palms on the blade. Then they turned to Guy.

Guy wasn’t sure what was going on, but he didn’t think he liked the look of it. His eyes went back and forth from one outlaw to the other, and then he at looked at Robin.

No one moved and, once Guy had looked at them, they turned to the blade. Now, Guy looked at Albion. The end of the sword was still glinting in the red glow. Guy now realized why each of them would sit and stare at the blade when they were around the fire. It had a fascination. He couldn’t stop his feet from moving. He found himself going to his right, at Much’s side, and placing his hand next to Alan’s.

Softly, Robin said, “Together we…” and Albion began to vibrate, sending a tingling up their arms and into their hearts. Once again, each was in their own world, feeling the peace of Herne, even Guy. A white mist appeared out of the forest and Herne stood watching. Robin began to see images: a castle, fighting, mountains. horses, individual faces. They stopped as suddenly as they began.

They heard Herne’s voice in their minds. _It is time…_

Robin lowered Albion and placed the tip against the ground in front of his feet, one hand around the hilt and one on top. Each of the outlaws turned to him, including Sir Guy of Gisburne. Slowly, Robin raised his head, opening his eyes. He was looking straight at Guy. Quietly, he uttered one word out loud, “Wales?”

 

>\------------->

 

“Sherwood is for Robin’s men

A green and leafy home.

Invisible from King John’s spies

Where royal deer do roam, do roam.

The…Bal-lad…of…Ro-bin…Hood…”

 

 

 

 

AFTERWORD

 

I would like to thank Richard Carpenter for “The village of Loxley” quote from his book _Robin of Sherwood_ (1984), Chapter 8, page 66. It added a more mystical quality to his story and mine.

 

 


End file.
